


The Dangerous Love Game

by kwunkwun



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Plotbunnies, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 07:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4615854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwunkwun/pseuds/kwunkwun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From FMA Plotbunny bizarre plotline generator:</p>
<p>It all starts when Roy Mustang is forced into a car at gunpoint, which may be connected to Edward Elric's refusal to date anyone who's a train conductor, or maybe it’s because Jean Havoc may have abducted Catherine Armstrong's friend. Meanwhile, Barry the Chopper has begun carrying a can-opener everywhere, Madame Christmas just found Rosé in a compromising location, and Tim Marcoh may have left Roy Mustang's iron on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dangerous Love Game

**Author's Note:**

> I gave up half way, but I thought I'd upload what I had so far anyway. I mean, last time I touched this was at least two years ago so... it was too difficult so I couldn't go on with it ⊂(ﾟДﾟ⊂

Anger was a tiny, insidious spark, grabbing at the surrounding flint so that it could roar into a dangerous flame: consuming everything in its path and leaving behind nothing but soot. Roy could feel that anger flashing across his shoulders, shooting down his arms, spreading through his palms and tingling at his fingertips –wanting to be made tactile by an efficient, satisfying _snap_.

The man stared –his teeth grinding together in a slow, ominous rhythm –at what remained of his favourite blue and white striped shirt. At the opposite wall, Marcoh stood cowering, his frame pathetically curled inwards, like a beaten animal.

The morning sun illuminated the room in blinding ivory white, accentuating the metaphorical vortex in the domestic picture: the ironing board on which the ruined shirt was laid, burnt and butchered. The board's pink and white polka-dotted surface further patterned by irregular singes, its cast shadow drew a knife line between the two men, like a cruel and indifferent barb-wired fence.

"I-I'm sorry," Marcho's raspy voice was barely audible in the spacious interior –as if even his voice was treated with utter contempt. "I had to answer the phone, a-and this… this woman wanted to sell me customised broomsticks, s-she wouldn't stop talking and I-

" _Enough_ ," Roy hissed, making the smaller man flinch. "I've _had_ it with you –you burn my food, you _never_ shut off the taps properly, you _repeatedly_ leave the toilet cover down –now you _ruin_ my clothes. And should I keep on listing what _else_ you still refuse to learn to do properly? No?"

Marcoh's arms shot up instinctively in defence as Roy snatched the shirt from the ironing board and flung it at him. The heavy iron toppled, falling to the floor with a loud, dull thud. The tremors could be felt vibrating through the ground, reverberating with the Flame Alchemist's irrepressible rage.

"I knew it," Roy continued in a low rumble, "apart from being a doctor, you are absolutely _useless_ , aren't you? I knew it from the beginning! What good are you if you can't even fulfil basic domestic duties?"

A terrifying moment of silence passed before Marcoh heard heavy, brisk footsteps departing the room. He cautiously raised his head, following Roy at a safe distance with his body bowed like a sycophantic courtier.

Roy was shrugging on a black coat, his broad back refusing to acknowledge the other man's presence.

"I am going out," he said. "I will be back in two hours. Get packing –by the time I step in, there will not be so much as a _trace_ of you or your belongings left behind, understand?"

The other alchemist swallowed, a pang of hurt and betrayal throbbing in his chest.

"B-but you said you'd never leave me –we had a deal! If I gave you what you wanted you would-

"I would what? Put up with you for the rest of my life? Don't flatter yourself, Doctor."

_Doctor_.

He delivered the words with cool disdain, spitting out the title like a rotten pip. It had been Tim –and then it had been Marcoh. And now it was simply "doctor", as if he was trying to wipe any speck of his existence from his memory.

His mind was blank, leaving only the shrill drone of shocked incomprehension as Roy slipped past him, walking out the entrance without any hint of hesitation.

The door closed with a bang –and Marcoh stood there as if transfigured by the after-image of Roy's retreating figure, his body shaking.

_No. This cannot happen. I won't allow this to happen._

_I have sacrificed too much to sit and watch him walk out on me like this._

His resolve circled, expanded, putting strength back into his despondent limbs until he could reach over to the phone, to pick up and dial.

_To claim back what is rightfully his._

The line connected, the familiar fluctuation tone like flint to the fire of his determination.

" _God, it's too early for this… who the hell is it?"_

"It's Marcoh. We have to initiate our plan earlier than expected."

There was a yawn at the other side of the line. " _What'd I tell ya? Optimism never does you any good."_

"There's no time for that, now. Is Catherine Armstrong working today?"

There was a sneer to the other man's voice as he replied, _"naturally. Her shift's on the 248 that departs at 11:45 –the carriages four to seven will be under her care."_

"That's perfect. I'll meet you at carriage number four, pronto."

" _You got it. Don't forget the doll."_

"Of course I want. See you soon."

The line was cut, and Marcoh promptly dialed his second number.

" _Hello. This is Jean Havoc."_

"Marcoh here. I need you to do something for me."

" _Don't you like to_ really _cut to the chase? If Doc. Marcoh's asking me for favours it must be a big thing –but what's in it for me?"_

The doctor smirked: there was no way the Lieutenant could refuse this: "I know of a way to expand muscle mass beyond the anatomical capability of an individual."

A definite, contemplative silence.

" _How did you know this?"_

"Your courtship patterns are not exactly secretive, Lieutenant –and you've forgotten who I live with."

Used _to live with... but no, things are going to be turned to his advantage!_

" _Alright. I'm in. What do you want?"_

"You will find Roy Mustang, disable him and bring him back to me. Do whatever it takes."

" _You're telling me to_ kidnap _my superior officer?"_

"I thought we had a deal, Lieutenant Havoc."

Pause.

" _Fine, I'll do it. I'm putting my ass on the line for this, so you'd better stick to your side of the bargain!"_

"I always do. You can trust me."

" _All right… but where do I find him?"_

"He just headed down Marie Crescent a few minutes ago. I know his patterns –he'll be going to the town center, in particular Centennial Street. Once you secure him, go straight to the train station and take the number 248 that departs at 11:45pm; its final stop is a town called Syrianna. I'll be meeting you in the fourth carriage."

" _I gotcha. I'll be there._ "

The phone was slammed down, an insistent mechanical tone humming into Marcoh's ear through the receiver. The doctor replaced it onto the duo hooks, exhaling slowly.

He never goes back on his words – _Roy_ was the one who did.

But he would _not_ allow it to happen again, no matter what it took.

* * *

 

The Armstrong family had always been gifted: and Catherine was no exception. When she was only five, a leading psychic had solemnly informed her parents that the girl was unusually sensitive to the supernatural. They were initially worried –after all, their youngest daughter was gentle and timid in nature, and surely, contact with spirits would be severely damaging to her well-being.

But Catherine grew to accept and treasure her gift. A believer of unicorns, Father Christmas, double rainbows and true love, she also possessed an unwavering faith in the intrinsic good of man. The combination of her power and her angelic demeanor made her a passionate liberator of the earth-bound spirits that roamed Central.

And so, the night she found the ghost of Barry the Chopper lurking in the shadow of a lamppost, she did not see a mad, fetishistic man grinning at the local butchery from across the road. She saw a man with ardent and melancholic transparent eyes, a man with many regrets.

The girl was instantly captured: not only by his impressive, muscular frame, but also by the humanity that had been torn away from him before he could fulfill his dreams.

She observed him from a distance for a few nights before she finally initiated contact –and sitting side by side on a park bench, with Barry fervently giving her his life story, Catherine was not the least frightened by him. Beneath his animated recital of his murderous adventures, there was a sure glimpse of loneliness, the hurt of being misunderstood for his entire life.

"You look _just_ like the girl who I amputated alive twenty-five years ago, Catherine. So innocent, so breathtakingly _beautiful_ ," he said to her one night, his voice nostalgic, gentle.

The blond felt herself flush from the soft words that were delivered from his lips like a melodious prayer; she wanted to be held by those powerful arms, to be caressed by that pale mouth. But Barry was tied down to the earthly world not by her, but by someone else.

Someone connected to the plain steel can-opener that he carried with him everywhere like a precious talisman.

He slowly twirled it in his palm, his calloused thumb worshipping a trail down the side of the handle. Under the duo light from the half-moon and the ochre-yellow street lamp, it gleamed white and silver as he turned it in his hand, the blemished surface reflecting the blurred, melancholic glint of his dark eyes.

"Did someone very important give that to you?" she finally dared to ask, her voice slightly shaking from the effort to make the question appear casual.

Barry was silent for a few seconds before he answered, "someone important to me made it... I just happened to pass by and pick it up. He was sitting at the road side, cradling a can of corned beef in his hands. Then he did the most amazing thing: he ripped out the doorknob from the entrance behind him, and then he clapped his hands... there was this flash of blue, and it became this. I've been following him ever since, up till the day I died."

"Have you ever talked to him?"

"Only his brother. Ah, his brother was just like me. Nothing but a suit of armor –but how he loved his older brother! They were inseparable. I was jealous... I said some terrible things. If he knew, he would never speak to me."

Catherine could not find the words to reply, to offer consolation: within his few words her suspicions have been confirmed, and her world had crashed down around her.

She vowed to do everything she could for the person she loved –but no, this could not be.

_Because Edward Elric was in love with_ her.

* * *

 

The beetle-black vehicle weaved through the cobble-stoned streets of central, its tires disrupting shallow puddles with rippling ribbons like water snakes.

It smelt of rain, cold and old leather: even the closed windows couldn't keep out the prevalent gloom that had settled itself over and around the city, as if becoming a physical embodiment.

Havoc's fingers drummed against the steering wheel, itching to light a joint, to fill his lungs with its hot, aromatic smoke. He was scanning the streets for any sign of the Flame Alchemist; but the city's inhabitants were already retreating to the shelter of restaurants and cafes in the anticipation of imminent rain.

He could only be grateful towards mother nature; after all, it was he who had audaciously agreed to kidnap a man who could destroy a building with a single click of the fingers.

Jean brought his car to an abrupt stop at the front of a bakery. The blot of jet black hair against dashing pale features was unmistakable behind the frosted glass windows. Roy Mustang was inveterately lavishing his attention on a young woman with long brown hair and beautifully tanned skin. Upon closer inspection, Havoc recognized the female as Rosé, whom he had often seen shopping and having coffee with Catherine Armstrong. Naturally he had attempted to convince Rosé to play matchmaker between himself and the blond beauity, but Rosé had sheepishly replied that Catherine already had her eyes for someone else –although she would try her best to recommend him as a possible suitor. If he was successfully in this mission, thought Havoc, then Marcoh would provide him with what might as well be an elixir of love so that in no time, Catherine's heart would be his.

The thought cast aside his doubts –there was not a moment to lose, and so he cut the ignition and got out of the car. The small beads attached to the tassels of the lambrequin tinkled against one another as he opened the door and slipped into the store.


End file.
